I see the grain of the wood.
All the years it has withstood.
Gently weathering a life.
Beautified from all its strife.
Bending reeds in winds unscathed.
As rigid trees cracked and razed.
A feeling deep within my bones.
There’s something here to atone.
Despite the aim for perfect poise.
Innards were shaken from the noise.
The storms it learned to endure.
Would I prevail through such war?
Running fingers on the grain.
Why would I not try to reclaim?
Reclaiming all it has become.
Honoring where I came from.
Loving the hurt that made it strong.
Tuning regret into belong.
Belong to what I’m here to seek.
A humankind, and yes . . . unique.
Surviving worlds of devastation.
And standing tall, in celebration.
As the grain unto the gray.
Weathering’s quite the display.
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